When It's Right

by Denault, Victoria

  He’s so worried I will think he’s picked his home simply so he could transition the date into the bedroom more easily and that will make me think he’s a pig. Little does he know I’ve got a brand-new roll of condoms in my purse. “I think it sounds like a great idea. To be honest, you had me at charcuterie.”

  His expression relaxes into the sexy smile I am growing very attached to as we head into Marin County. Before I know it we’re pulling into the marina, and I’m growing confused. I don’t see houses or apartments.

  He parks the car, jumps out, and holds out his hand to help me down as soon as I open my door. He doesn’t let go of it either as he guides me toward a dock. It’s lined with houseboats. “You weren’t kidding. You live on the water.”

  “I do,” he confirms and stops halfway down the row in front of a gorgeous two-story, modern, dark wood houseboat with black metal accents and a sleek natural cedar deck upstairs and down.

  “This place is sexy as fuck,” I blurt. I have never seen a dwelling that was just naturally so unique and manly. I know it’s just wood and glass floating on water, but it oozes sex appeal. Just like Griffin.

  “I don’t know what to say to that.” He chuckles and dips his head. “I’ll make sure to note that on the listing if I ever sell.”

  “I might buy it from you,” I counter as he opens the gate to the lower deck, jumps on, and turns to help me. I make it effortlessly, but purposely land as close to him as possible so our torsos touch. It makes a warm shiver dance up my spine.

  He pauses, reaches out, and brushes the back of his fingertips across my cheek to my hairline. Then he dips his head, his lips next to my ear. “You smell incredible.”

  Heat explodes like a firework in my belly, shooting sparks through my veins. “It’s an essential oil called Serenity.”

  He chuckles. “False advertising. Serenity is not what is happening inside me.”

  “What is happening?” I can barely hear the words as they come out of my mouth I’m so breathless, so I don’t actually expect a response, but I get one.

  He steps back, his lips brushing where his fingertips were moments before, and when he looks at me his eyes are hooded and dark with desire. “I’m not entirely sure, but it’s good. Great, even.”

  “I agree.”

  He grins and grabs my hand again, pulling me toward two oversize black wicker deck chairs filled with crimson pillows and positioned in front of a table that has a place to build a fire in the middle. It really is better than any restaurant he could have chosen.

  “If the rain stops I’ll turn that on,” he tells me and points to the fire pit as I let myself collapse into one of the chairs. Calling it comfortable would be an understatement. “In the meantime there’s a throw over the back if you’re cold and…”

  I watch as he leans over me and flips a switch. The hem of his sweater and shirt lift as he extends his arm, and I can see the slightest sliver of hard abs, wrapped in caramel skin, with a glimpse of a thick, dark treasure trail. It’s official—I’m wet. Damn, I have to get a grip on my hormones or I’m going to embarrass myself.

  Heat lamps built into the overhang of the deck glow to life as he flips the switch he was reaching for. I’m instantly warm all over instead of just between my legs.

  “I’ll be back in a flash,” he announces and unlocks the front door and steps inside the houseboat.

  He returns a couple minutes later, and I realize he wasn’t just throwing out an idea. He had planned this whole thing out and done prep. He’s carrying a decanter full of wine and a big wood board with an array of meats, cheeses, fruits, and olives and pickles.

  Both the wine and food are delicious. As we talk while we enjoy it, I realize how easy it is—like we’ve known each other forever. I don’t remember a first date ever being so easy. I wonder if that kiss in the parking lot is the reason or if it’s just because he’s perfect for me.

  I ask him about how he ended up in hockey. “My younger brother Hunter and I were rambunctious, destructive little kids, always breaking toys, lamps, furniture, windows. My parents put us in every sport they could—hockey, soccer, football, baseball, swimming, just to tire us out. I fell head over heels in love with it.”

  “And Hunter?”

  “Sports made him miserable. By high school he was all about debate club and math club and making nerdism sexy,” Griffin says, and I laugh. “His exact words. In fact, he put it in his yearbook blurb as his life goal.”

  “He sounds like a fun guy,” I reply and pop a feta-stuffed olive into my mouth.

  Griffin nods. “I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

  “That’s how I feel about Winnie, Dixie, and Jude,” I reply and swirl my wine in its glass. “But if you tell any of them, I will deny it.”

  He grabs a piece of salami. When he’s done chewing, he sips his wine and leans back in his chair. “Enough about my kid brother. Tell me what makes Sadie Sadie?”

  I wasn’t expecting that question. It’s so simple and yet…it has me dumbfounded. Of all the men I’ve met and dated, no one has asked me that. He must realize I’ve been knocked sideways by that question, because he smiles again. It’s soft and kind and not amused or mocking at all, even though he could easily make fun of me since I’m coming off as a young adult who hasn’t figured herself out yet.

  “I’m sorry,” I say sheepishly. “That’s not supposed to be a stumper at twenty-seven.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he replies easily and sips his wine. “Let me put it this way…what made Sadie Sadie before she became a rock in someone else’s situation?”

  My mouth falls open. His smile deepens, and it’s so gentle and warm I want to wrap myself in it…in him.

  “For me,” Griffin says, “I was a stock market nerd who couldn’t miss an episode of The Walking Dead and loved long, late nights with a good pinot and a true crime book before I had to become a rock for Charlie as she coped with the divorce.” He puts his wineglass down as he reaches for the bottle and tops up my glass before refilling his own. “I still manage to sneak in a glass of pinot now and then, but I have to marathon The Walking Dead in the summer when she’s at day camp. I don’t have much time for the stock market anymore, and I’m usually too exhausted to read.”

  I am truly flabbergasted at how similar his life sounds to mine but for completely different reasons. Instantly—just like that—what I’m feeling for him starts shifting from simple attraction to an actual connection.

  I gulp my wine, swallow, and confess. “I loved horses and raising hell at country bars with my sisters and watching reruns Bob Ross’s TV show on lazy Sunday afternoons…before my dad was diagnosed.”

  He nods, without a blink, a hesitation, or a question. He knows what my dad has. I look out at the tranquil bay for a moment. The rain has stopped and the water is as smooth as glass. I inhale the salty air and turn back to him. “But it’s not someone else’s situation. Just like it isn’t for you. My family is my world, and my dad is the center of that world. So I gladly gave up my life in Toronto and my hobbies, because being a rock for my family, while we all collectively lose our rock, is the only option.”

  He doesn’t say anything. He just watches me intently, and I pray I don’t look as close to tears as I am. Crying on a first date probably isn’t proper etiquette. He tilts his head. Our eyes connect. The weight of his stare is making me breathless. I can’t handle it. I feel like I’m in a car and there’s a brick on the gas pedal. This attraction—this connection—is moving fast. Too fast for me to control. I’m suddenly searching for a way to slow down. I put my wineglass on the table. “So is there dessert? Please say you’re a dessert man.”

  His expression lightens, and it’s like a heavy blanket being pulled off me. I wanted it to happen, but now I’m missing its warmth. “Oh, I am a dessert man,” he confirms and starts to stand. “I’ll be right back.”

  Once he’s disappeared inside, I can finally take a deep breath. I stand up and walk to the edge of the boat.
Away from the warmth of the heat lamps, I grip the railing of the boat and take another breath, trying to clear my head and, more importantly, my heart.

  13

  Griffin

  I take longer than I need to in the kitchen grabbing dessert. I just need a second. This night—this woman—is intense. She isn’t trying to be…in fact I think she’s trying not to be. But every time our eyes meet it’s like we’re looking into each other, not at each other. And everything she says reaches me on levels I haven’t felt…ever. I feel connected to her without even trying. It’s just natural.

  I glance at her through the window. She’s moved to the railing, and she’s looking out at the ocean. Under the moonlight, her hair is luminous and golden, like honey, and her pale skin almost looks like it’s glowing. Her round ass is pushed out just a little as she leans on the rail and it is the most perfect thing I have ever seen. My dick is stirring in my pants, just from admiring her silhouette. It’s like there’s a chemical reaction in my blood from just the sight of her. I have got to rein it in because I don’t want to freak her out. Or worse, make her think this is just about one thing. But damn, I do want that one thing…

  I adjust the front of my jeans, pull my eyes away from her, and grab the plate on the counter, discarding the plastic wrap I had covered it with, before heading back outside. I place the plate on the table, grab the barbecue lighter, and light the fire pit in the middle of the table. She walks back over from the railing slowly, her blue eyes on the plate.

  “S’mores?” she asks in awe, and I nod.

  “I brought a bunch of different chocolate to try,” I say and reach out to grab the metal skewers with the wood handles that I bought specifically for s’mores since they’re Charlie’s favorite. “There’s dark chocolate, milk chocolate, and this Belgian chocolate that has a vein of peanut butter running through it.”

  “Oh, yes, please!” she almost squeals as she sits back down on her chair, inching forward to reach for the s’mores makings. I push the plate closer to her. I love that she reaches for the peanut butter chocolate first, because it’s my favorite too.

  I watch her place the chocolate between the graham crackers and then skewer a marshmallow. Her fingers are long and delicate like an artist’s, and I instantly want to know what they would look like wrapped around my shaft. Shit, so much for keeping control. My thoughts are unmanageable.

  She holds the marshmallow over the flames. She doesn’t pull it back until it’s gone from brown to black to on fire. Then she removes it, blows it out, and carefully slides it between the graham crackers next to the chocolate. She looks at me, her face alive with anticipation as she lifts it to her lips and takes a big bite.

  “Mmm…” she moans, and the sound runs straight through my core and right to my dick. “This is sooo heavenly sinful.”

  “That makes no sense.” I laugh softly, and she shrugs.

  “Yeah, well, it’s so good it’s nonsensical,” she replies and then pauses before holding out what’s left of it. “Try.”

  I want to taste it…I want to taste a lot of things right now, but the s’more isn’t the highest thing on this list. Still, I reach out and take her wrist in my hand and gently but firmly tug her up out of her seat and guide her to sit next to me on my chair. I slide over to make room for her and then, with my hand still wrapped around her wrist, I move the s’more toward my mouth and take a big, greedy bite.

  It’s fucking delicious, but not as delicious as the look of lust on her face. She’s as turned on as I am. This current between us runs both ways. Thank the gods.

  There’s nothing left of the s’more now except a dollop of melted marshmallow on the pad of her thumb. We’re both looking at that warm, sticky marshmallow and then…we’re both looking at each other.

  “You forgot some.” She whispers the invitation I was hoping for.

  With my fingers still wrapped around her wrist, I lean forward and pull her hand toward me and take her thumb into my mouth. She’s moving, so by the time I’ve licked her thumb clean and released it she’s straddling my lap, facing me. Her blue eyes have darkened and are focused on my mouth. Her bottom lip is pushed out, pouty with need. I release her wrist and curl my hand around the back of her neck, guiding her mouth to mine.

  Our first kiss was the most passionate, fiery, deep kiss I’ve ever had. And this one blows it right out of the water. Any remaining thoughts of taking this slow or easing up no longer exist. All that exists is the press of her body on mine, the soft gasp that escapes her lips as my free hand drops to her ass and pulls her even closer, and the sweet, sugary taste of her tongue against mine.

  Her hands grip my shoulders and she rolls her hips, pressing herself onto my hardness. I cup her perfect ass as she does it again and moves her hands up my neck and into my hair. She laces the short ends through her fingers and tugs on it. I nip and suck on her bottom lip. “All those inappropriate intentions you were worried about,” she whisper-pants against my ear, and my lips lick and suck my way down her slender neck. “They’re appropriate. And I want them all to happen.”

  I stand, in one smooth motion, lifting her with me. She gasps, not expecting it, but quickly adapts, effortlessly wrapping her legs around my waist and her lips around my earlobe. As I walk us into the boat, she nips my lobe with her teeth, then whispers, “I have wanted your dick in my mouth since I first laid eyes on you.”

  “And I’m all for that, but first I’m going to taste you,” I reply gruffly and march through the house and up the stairs. She wraps a hand more tightly around my neck so that the other one can slip between our torsos and start undoing my belt. “I want my lips on your pussy more than I want to breathe air right now. I bet you’re sweeter than that s’more.”

  “Oh, God…” Her voice is already trembling.

  “I want your voice to quiver until it breaks, until you can’t speak, until you can’t do anything but pant,” I whisper against her throat, moving my lips along her jugular. Her heart is pumping so damn hard, and I haven’t even gotten her clothes off yet. I pause on the small landing and press her up against the wall, next to the shelves where my hockey trophies are displayed, and I find her lips again with mine as I snap my hips and push my hardest place into her softest.

  “Harder,” she begs into the kiss, and I do it again, harder. She moans. It’s primal and unfeigned and it makes my blood turn to fire.

  I pull her off the wall and climb the rest of the stairs so fast I’m almost tripping as I take a sharp right into my bedroom and drop her, and myself, roughly onto the king-size bed. I didn’t bother to make it this morning, and there’s a full laundry basket in the corner of the room and a towel on the floor in the bathroom because I really, truly, honestly didn’t think we’d be here tonight. I was trying to be a gentleman. She doesn’t want a gentleman; she wants raw, rough, and dirty. She wants me unfiltered, and I’m going to give it to her.

  She makes quick work of the button and fly on my pants, like she did my belt before it. I feel her fingertips, warm and firm, graze my shaft through my underwear, and I bite down on the crook of her neck. She arches her back, and I take the opportunity to finally slip my hands under her clothing, sliding her shirt up her body.

  Her belly is taut and her skin is like silk against my lips. My mouth trails my hands, making their way up from her stomach to her ribs to the edge of her black lace bra. She’s not timid or hesitant as she grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it up over her head, letting it fall to my floor. I grab the cups of her bra and dip them down so my fingers can roll her left nipple while my lips cover her right. She sighs and arches her back again. I move my mouth to her other nipple and my hand to the button on her jeans.

  Her hands are reaching for my dick again, so I stop to grab them both and push them into the pillows above her head, pressing my body over hers. “You have too many clothes on,” she complains.

  “Patience, love,” I murmur, and she makes a disgruntled sound in her throat, which makes me smile.
“Now I’m going to make you wait even longer.”

  She starts to make the noise again, catches herself, and stops biting her bottom lip. “Don’t hurt yourself,” I warn as I start to kiss my way down her body again. “I’m going to need those lips later. Around my cock, like you promised.”

  I don’t waste time as I make my way down to those jeans again. I get them undone, and as I nip her hipbone, I command, “Lift.”

  She raises her hips, and in one hard tug I get her jeans down her thighs. Her black lace underwear stays put. Not what I’d planned, but I can work with it. I use one hand to get her jeans down past her knees and as she kicks her way out of them, I settle between her legs and slide my tongue across the skin next to the lacy edge of her panties.

  I run a finger down the center of her panties, and it’s not just damp—it’s soaked. I quiver with desire, every fucking part of me. I kiss her on top of the lace. “Griffin…please lick me.”

  “Love, I am going to do more than lick you,” I warn and slip two fingers past the lace barrier. “I’m going to worship you.”

  I pull the lace to the side, and before she can respond, my mouth is on her. Her thighs shake the second I touch her. I thought if and when we ever got to this stage that I would be nervous, tentative because it’s been a long time since I’ve done this to a woman. But any nerves I had have been burned away by desire, along with Sadie’s reaction to me. She’s pure and visceral, moaning and panting at every pass of my tongue, brush of my lips, press of my fingers. Her legs are splayed, her back is arched, her breath is ragged. And then a tremor ripples through her body, and she pushes her pussy into my mouth and wails my name. No, I’m not nervous. I’m Captain Fucking America.